


You Really Got Me

by Polomonkey



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Arguing is basically just foreplay here, Disabled Character, F/M, Humor, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 04:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4947544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polomonkey/pseuds/Polomonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I don’t know who you are but we keep running into each other on the street and getting into screaming arguments over the stupidest things and I’m actually looking forward to our next meeting because you’re annoying as hell but also you’re hot as fuck and its kind of fun to argue with you.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Really Got Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Diana_Prallon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_Prallon/gifts).



> For Diana, who wanted Morgwaine, and seems to like fics named after pop songs :) 
> 
> Based on an au from [this](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/post/112392287541/list-of-aus-to-consider-where-one-or-both-of-ur) list.

The first time he bumps into her, it's genuinely an accident.

He’s not paying attention, maybe daydreaming a bit about that sleek black motorcycle he saw parked across the street that morning, and so he wanders straight into someone.

“Oh sorry-” he starts automatically and then breaks off when he realises the woman he’s accidentally body-slammed happens to be one of the most beautiful people he’s ever seen. She’s got big green eyes, and pale creamy skin, and a wave of shiny black hair that cascades over her shoulder like a… hair waterfall? Whatever. Gwaine’s not good at metaphors. What he is good at is flirting, and he lets his face relax into its usual easy smile, the one that’s charmed half the boys and girls in a fifty mile radius. The girl sees. She looks up to gaze straight into his eyes, her lovely mouth parting like a rosebud, and she says…

“Walk much, dickwad?”

Gwaine doesn’t know if he’s more surprised at her dismissive tone or the oddly nineties use of the word ‘dickwad’. Either way, he doesn’t manage to gather himself until after she’s pushed past him and sailed off down the street, and even then the only comeback he can muster is a feeble shout of “Rude!”

She doesn’t even look back.

He regroups and resolves to put the whole thing out of his mind. Plenty more fish in the sea; no need to waste his time chasing a piranha. But he weakens slightly when he sees her the next day, because she is so very pretty, and Gwaine is only human, after all.

“You weren’t very nice yesterday,” he says, walking into her path with a cocksure grin. “But I’m prepared to accept an apology.”

“Oh, this is so awkward,” the girl says and Gwaine nods, ready for the grovelling to begin.

“But you’ve clearly mistaken me for someone who gives a fuck,” the girl continues, her diction crisp as a bell. “Wow. This is really embarrassing for you. It’s actually a little painful to watch, so I’m just gonna go, okay?”

Once again Gwaine is left staring down the street at her retreating back, wondering what the hell just happened. A lesser man might change his commute route after that, or just keep his head down, but Gwaine is a great man, no matter what Merlin might intimate to the contrary. He’s not running scared of some witch with a Prada handbag. He’ll win this war, sooner or later.

He smells victory in the air when he comes upon her two days later, crouched down and attempting to extricate her heel from a crack in the ground.

“You should really invest in a pair of trainers, sweetheart,” he says smugly, letting a grin cross his face that he has been reliably confirmed by Merlin as ‘shit-eating’.

“I’m sorry,” the woman says, looking up. “Did I ask for your opinion? Was I sending out some sort of non-verbal signal that I’m unaware of? Or do I just have a sign on my back saying ‘Bother me with your irrelevant crap’?”

She stands, having successfully gotten loose, and makes a big show of checking her back.

“Huh. I guess not. You’re out of luck, _sweetheart_.”

Then she sashays off, leaving a trace of expensive perfume in the air behind her.

Gwaine sniffs it, momentarily entranced. Then he mentally slaps himself and makes a note to go over to Arthur and Merlin’s tonight. He could do with a good rant.

 

***

 

He doesn’t know why he expected any sympathy from Merlin and Arthur. They’ve only been dating three months and he’s known Merlin since they were eight, so he might expect a little loyalty. But no. Arthur and Merlin are utterly lacking in compassion for his terrible plight. Even Gemma, Arthur’s guide dog, looks disapproving. 

“Can you believe her? All I’ve done is try to be nice!”

“It sounds like all you’ve done is stalk some random woman on the street,” Merlin puts in but Gwaine ignores this entirely immaterial interruption.

“Who does she think she is? With her fancy handbag and her killer heels and all that shiny hair that swings round her head like some sort of amazing shampoo advert-”

Arthur coughs, unsubtly.

“To quote Giles from Buffy, I believe the subtext here is rapidly becoming text.”

“Just once, I’d like to have a conversation where you didn’t quote Giles from Buffy,” Gwaine says grumpily.

“He’s very wise,” Arthur protests. “He was my first ever crush.”

“No way,” Merlin says excitedly. “Mine was Xander!”

“We are so made for each other,” Arthur says, and they do that whole gross new couple kissing thing, where it looks like they’re trying to eat each other’s faces.

“Oi! Lovebirds! I hate to sound self-centred but can we get back to me? What are you saying about subtext?”

“I’m saying you have quite an obvious crush on this girl,” Arthur explains patiently.

“I do not! She’s a total nightmare! I’ve never met anyone who’s infuriated me more in my life!”

“That’s what I thought when I met Arthur,” Merlin says smugly. “Case in point.”

“You did?” Arthur says, and he sounds wounded.

“Oh… yeah… but…” Merlin falters.

“I thought that about you too!” Arthur crows.

And then the kissing thing starts again and Gwaine excuses himself to be sick in the sink. It’s increasingly clear he’ll have to figure this thing out by himself.

 

***

 

Over the next three weeks he sees the woman five times. He’s lost track of the insults he’s had heaped on him; although ‘pissworm’ is a particular highlight. He thinks he’s managed to get the upper hand in at least two of those encounters, but he has to admit that she’s a hard girl to ruffle.

Then again. She hasn’t changed her commute yet, has she? Perhaps there’s some part of her that’s enjoying this too…

That in mind, he purposefully bumps into her the next day.

“Get a seeing eye dog!” she hisses and the grin drops off his face.

It’s probably the kind of joke he would have laughed at a few months ago, before he met Arthur, but not anymore.

“That’s not funny,” he says, and braces himself for a tart brush off.

But to his surprise, she looks abashed.

“No. Sorry. I didn’t mean…” She trails off. “My brother’s blind, actually, he’d kill me if he heard that.”

He warms to her again, seeing her edges soften for the first time.

“Um… I guess what I meant was…” she fumbles.

He smiles encouragingly.

“GET A FUCKING SENSE OF DIRECTION!”

And then she’s gone again. Unbelievable. 

Gwaine tries his best to tell himself that the slight tingle running through him is all the adrenaline of the argument. He likes the back and forth, that’s all. It’s definitely nothing more than that.

But seeing her is increasingly becoming the best part of his day, and he doesn't quite know why.

 

***

 

He ends up at Arthur’s flat again on Friday night. Merlin technically still lives with Gwaine but he spends most of his time here now. Gwaine doesn’t mind. He’s worried as Merlin's gone from useless man to useless man over the years; Arthur’s quite a refreshing change. He’s a bit of a prat, but that’s part of his charm somehow.

Gwaine lets himself in and gives Gemma a pat on the head, even though he knows she’s not for petting really. Almost immediately he hears a corresponding shout from the living room.

“Quit manhandling my dog and get in here!”

“How do you always know?” Gwaine says as he ambles in.

“I’m psychic,” Arthur says drily. “Don’t tell anyone, I get enough people asking me if my other senses are super-sharp to 'compensate'.” 

“So what am I thinking right now?”

“You’re thinking Merlin’s haircut is awful,” Arthur says promptly.

“Bingo,” Gwaine says, even though Merlin’s new undercut is actually rather fetching. But he knows Arthur likes it when Merlin’s hair is long, so he can run his fingers through it.

“So crazy, you guys,” Merlin says. “Because _I_ was just thinking about a parallel universe where the two of you are actually funny.”

“Sarcasm’s a very unattractive trait, Merlin,” Gwaine says. “Especially for a man with hair like yours.”

Merlin makes an indignant whining noise and Arthur reaches out to pat his head, only he misses and accidentally pokes Merlin in the eye.

Gwaine laughs, until the apology kiss leads to an epic make-out session, and he has to look around desperately for some distraction to derail it.

He finds one in a pair of blue stiletto heels propped up against the hearth.

“Didn’t know stilettos were your thing, Arthur.”

“They’re my sister’s,” Arthur says. “I really prefer kitten heels.”

“Your sister’s here?”

Gwaine’s never met her, although he’s heard she’s a force of nature from Merlin. And less polite things from Arthur himself.

“Can’t you hear her fighting the crockery in the kitchen?” Arthur asks.

Gwaine had noticed a bit of angry clanking, come to think of it.

“Morgana is _kindly_ making us tea, don’t be so rude Arthur,” Merlin says, and at that moment the door swings open.

“Yeah, don’t be so rude Arthur, or I may accidentally drop this pot of boiling water on your… YOU!”

It takes Gwaine a second to realise that last word is directed at him, and a second longer to realise the woman with the tea tray is none other than the shiny haired malcontent from the street.

“YOU!” he shouts in disbelief.

“You know each other?” Merlin says, confused.

“This is the harpy from the street!”

“This is the fuckwit from my commute!”

They both yell at the same time, then turn to one another in outrage.

“Harpy?”

“Fuckwit?!”

“Yeah, fuckwit,” she tosses out. “I call it like I see it.”

“Well so do I, love,” Gwaine shoots back.

“Isn’t this nice?” Arthur says, rather wearily. “Gwaine, this is my sister Morgana. Morgana, this is my friend Gwaine.”

Normally Gwaine might feel warmed by Arthur calling him a friend, he’s sure he was always previously introduced as ‘Merlin’s roommate’, but he only has eyes for this Morgana right now. What a perfect name. What a perfect name for a stuck up, condescending, rude, spirited, gorgeous… no, stop there. Gwaine assembles his best glare, determined not to lose face.

“Your sister lacks manners, Arthur,” he drawls, and she bares her teeth at him.

“True, Gwaine, but you’re not exactly Tom Hanks yourself,” Arthur says.

“Eh?”

“Huh?”

“What does Tom Hanks have to do with anything?” 

Arthur looks a bit wrong footed.

“I dunno, I just think he just seems really polite…” he says awkwardly, and Merlin leans in to nuzzle his nose.

“You are so cute,” he says, and before Gwaine can say ‘predictable’, they’re kissing again.

“Gross,” Morgana says behind him.

“So gross,” he agrees without thinking.

Morgana favours him with a very tiny smile.

“So… Gwaine… what kind of a name is that?”

“It’s a one-off. Bit like me.”

Morgana rolls her eyes but she looks amused in spite of herself.

“You certainly are a one-off. I never had a stalker on my commute before.”

Gwaine makes a noise of protest and she holds her hands up.

“Just kidding!” she says, then smiles sweetly. “I’ve actually had loads of stalkers.”

Gwaine can’t help but laugh, and when Morgana joins in, her whole face lights up.

 

***

 

Tea is a slightly more civilised affair than it looked to be initially, although Gwaine and Morgana keep up a fairly constant stream of bickering throughout.

“Are they eye-fucking?” Arthur asks Merlin after Gwaine makes a particularly suggestive joke about the size of his feet. “On second thoughts, don’t tell me. Some things aren’t meant to be seen.”

“Oh that’s good ‘cause they’re actually shagging on the sofa right now,” Merlin says pleasantly.

Even Gwaine chokes on his tea at that one.

“We are not,” Morgana says, taking a prim sip of her Earl Grey. “At least, not yet.”

“Oh God, Morgs, just go,” Arthur moans, head in his hands. “Go, and do things that would make our father deeply disappointed in you. Just never tell me about them.”

“Can we use your bedroom?” Gwaine asks, and it’s at that point that Arthur throws the sugar bowl at Gwaine.

 

***

 

They end up at Morgana’s place, and Gwaine finally gets a chance to try out his “unhooking a bra with a click of his fingers” trick. Morgana is completely unimpressed of course, but Gwaine can’t imagine her any other way. He kind of loves it.

He wakes in the morning to the smell of eggs and bacon, and pads to the kitchen to find Morgana at the hob, clad in faded plaid pyjamas, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looks softer like this, and Gwaine can admit to himself that he’s thoroughly smitten at this point.

“I think I really like you,” he says by way of greeting, surprised by how true it is. And Morgana turns to look at him, a smile creeping across her face.

“Shut the fuck up,” she says, and Gwaine laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
